


Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

by RavensFlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Another Plot Bunny Test Fic, Cannibalism, Dudley POV, Evil Harry, Maybe disturbing idk, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensFlight/pseuds/RavensFlight
Summary: Harry has a few too many magical maladies and Dudley gets caught in the crossfire.Kinda meant to be disturbing but idk how it turned it so don't expect much. Mostly just another plot-bunny turned into practice. Again, don't expect much. Its kinda just... yucky.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Dudley ran. He ran and he ran, screaming and crying. His heart felt like it was about to burst from his chest but still he ran. He ran until finally, he saw it, the blue uniform. The kind concerned smile.

"Woah there kid, is everything okay?" Dudley huffed and puffed and bent over trying to breathe through his tears. He shook his head violently, trying to push the words from his throat.

"He- he- hel-" he coughed, choking on mucus. The officer put his hand on the boy's shoulder and told him to breathe.

"Hel- help- my dad- he- he fell-" he started choking again but the policeman understood.

"Okay young man, I'm going to need you to show me where he fell, okay? Can you do that for me?" Durley couldn't help but cry harder, but still, he nodded.

He led the man back to his house, the tears not stopping. His head was hurting and he could barely see but he needed help he needed the police and the police were coming and the police would he-

"Is this your house?" Dudley nodded, knowing he wouldn't be able to say another word. "Okay, you show me where your dad fell, okay?" Dudley nodded again, leading him into the house and to the basement stairs. He stared at them with eyes blurred by tears, terror reaching up from his stomach to grip his heart. He started to shake even more, but he went down anyway, one step at a time, leading the policeman lower and lower and deeper and deeper.

The lights were off, the room was too dark. Everything was too silent too still, except for the heavy wet breathing in the corner. The policeman cursed and turned on his flashlight and Dudley wished he could beg the man to turn it off but he didn't get a chance. The flashlight fell and Dudley covered his mouth, stifling a scream, closing his eyes tight, hoping he wasn't next. He heard a fleshy thud and wet squelching. He heard creaking and cracking and the sound of teeth grinding together. More tears fell.

"Thank you, cousin". He whimpered at the quiet childlike whisper. He'd thought maybe Harry was wrong, maybe he couldn't get the policeman, maybe the policeman could shoot him and save Dudley like on the TV. He felt something wet glide across his ankle, cold slime wetting his trouser leg. There was more grinding and cracking and slurping and then there was a gulp and then there was nothing but heavy breathing.

"You like the neighbours, don't you, Dudley? They fed you didn't they? Why don't you invite them over for tea? I'm still hungry." Harry giggled and Dudley nodded violently, backing into the steps. "Good boy, Dudley, you're much nicer now that Uncle and Auntie aren't telling you what to do." Harry giggled again and Dudley didn't stop nodding, crawling up the steps backwards not wanting to put his back to the basement. Once he finally reached the top he slammed the door and fled, the crunching and slurping echoing through his head even once he was outside. Not wanting to upset Harry he sprinted across the garden making a beeline to the neighbours but his vision faded and he started to fall. As he fell, he sent a prayer to God that he wouldn't wake up to face his cousin's anger.

* * *

Dudley was older and knew not to cry as he threw cats down to his baby cousin. Even when they yowled and scratched at his arms he kept silent. At least they aren't people. That was all he could think. At least they aren't people. Mrs Figg had lots, she wouldn't miss a couple. But Harry was extra hungry and wanted more. He wanted someone big and plump and juicy, he said. Someone like Vernon. But Vernon was the first one he ate so who would go instead? Dudley stamped down the tears threatening to burst forth. At least it wasn't him, right? He wasn't plump anymore. No, he was thin, too thin really. He tried to eat but it was so hard. He stole fruit from his neighbours but the apples went crunch and the pears went slurp and his head rang with memories and he just couldn't keep it down. He could hear his mother scolding him in his head.

"You're too thin, you need to eat more. Skin and bones, skin and bones!" _I know mum I know_. Dudley shook his head. He didn't have time to talk to a memory, he needed to find Harry something to eat.

* * *

Dudley was scared. Terrified. He couldn't stop shaking. He hadn't been so anxious for a long time. Months. But now he couldn't help it, he was dead. He'd gotten worse, he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, he could barely function. But at least he had been useful. Harry couldn't eat without him. Couldn't live. But now he had bait. He watched it walk- it moved like a puppet. He heard it talk- it spoke like a child. But it was walking and it was talking and it could bring people home when Dudley couldn't. It didn't need to lure people in with fake danger or promises of safety, it just needed to get its meaty body close enough to some poor victim to wrap around its meaty tentacles and drag home the struggling meal.

It wasn't human. It didn't feel pain. It had more strength than any man Dudley had ever seen. It didn't matter that it wasn't perfect, it was still better than him.

* * *

Dudley used to like zombie movies. They were gory and fun fantasy. But there was no fun and no fantasy in Little Whinging. He was more into books now, ones about wizards and magic. He hated that he liked the baby books more but their scary creatures never won and everyone lived happily ever after. Nonfiction had become his other guilty pleasure. He could do nothing but sit and read all day and try to sleep through the night. Harry's Esca roamed the streets, sniffing out visitors and tourists, but there were none to find, not after the men with sticks came. Dudley presumed they were wizards and their sticks were wands, but he couldn't get near enough to ask. Sometimes they came back, firing at the Esca as though they had some hope of harming them.

But Dudley called them Esca for a reason. He read a book on the biology of sea creatures, hoping they were so wildly different to mammals that nothing would remind him of Harry but instead he came across the Anglerfish. The gaping, hungry mouth and tantalising lure reminded Dudley of his cousin so much, he secretly nicknamed the constructs Esca, after the Anglerfish's lure. They weren't exactly flesh golems or zombies, they were his cousin's limbs, his lures, his Esca. No matter how much those wizards blasted them, it wouldn't do anything. Harry would just build it back up.

They hadn't been back for a while though, the last couple of groups weren't very fast and Harry snagged a few. Dudley had watched his cousin's red sinewy limbs burst through the asphalt and seize the men, but his mind was curiously detached. _There's no one left to repair the holes in the road._

He hoped the wizards would come back. They were different. Little Whinging didn't change anymore- but he lied. Little Whinging did change. It changed when his cousin got bigger. He didn't fit in the basement anymore, so long, dripping, masses pulsed on the streets and inside collapsed houses. Sometimes a new one would break through, or one would split or expand. But Dudley didn't want to pay attention to the lumpy organs. He didn't want to think about them. At least they didn't grow very fast without food.

* * *

Dudley knew he was dying. Even as he bit into the canned peach he knew it wouldn't go down. He felt the cold flesh give way between his teeth and bile rose in his throat. Juice ran down his wrists heating up until he was sure it wasn't juice anymore. In his head, he saw soft skin splitting and blood running down emaciated wrists. He didn't even get a chance to swallow. Eyes watering, Dudley tried not to choke on the chunks. The corn he had somehow managed to force down earlier was wasted.

* * *

Dudley knew he should be dead. It had been a month since he had last eaten and days since his last drink. His skin felt tight and dry and his lips peeled when he pulled them apart but he wasn't dead. It hurt too much to move. We wondered if Harry was going to eat him too. There probably wasn't enough meat on him, but Harry didn't waste food.

* * *

He wondered why it was so dark. It took him too long to realise his eyes were closed. It took everything out of him to open them, and when he finally did, blood blinded him. Dudley wanted to cry. He regretted not crying more, earlier. It was a silly thing to regret now but with no tears left he wished he had made the most of his ability when he had it. Dudley wished a lot of things.

* * *

Dudley stared at the corpse next to him. It was a wonder it was still around. Earlier the wizards had arrived again, and one had even managed to find him. Dudley was wishing again. Wishing he'd had enough strength to look up. To move his eyes. To look behind the terrified man. To look at the movement he could only see in his peripheral. The movement he knew was his cousin. But he could move a single muscle. Not a twitch. So now all he could do was stare at the man lying wide-eyed and bloody next to him.

* * *

There was a twitch. Just one small twitch. Dudley twitched his finger. A millimetre. Dudley wished he could smile.

* * *

As he twitched, Dudley made up stories about wizards in his head. He created worlds and scenarios and he built himself a haven away from his cousin and the smelly man next to him.

* * *

A couple of millimetres.

* * *

Dudley stopped his twitching briefly. It was within reach. All he needed to do was stretch out. Touch it. Just a few more centimetres. Another couple inches. He strained. He pushed. Something pulled. And then he felt it under his fingers. The man's wand, warm and welcoming. Dudley needed to sleep but he was too tired to close his eyes. He'd been too tired for a while. He was wishing again.

* * *

When Dudley woke up, he wasn't next to a corpse. He wasn't where he fell asleep at all. He was somewhere bright and different. Below him was something soft- a bed. Maybe he was dead.

* * *

Dudley threw himself into the gifted books. Wizards, magic, monsters, they were all real. There was a whole underground society of magical people and beings. It was more than he'd ever imagined. The wizards told him he'd "apparated", wizards teleportation. He was a wizard. A wizard. He was safe. He was a wizard and, with his new wand and books, he could defend himself. His cousin couldn't do anything, stuck behind some ward.

* * *

The Healers didn't know what to do with him. He so badly wanted to become an Auror but couldn't even eat without thinking of his cousin. Couldn't sleep without seeing Harry's twisted, wet, deformed body resting in the basement, his human torso and head hanging upside down over a toothy hole. Even closing his eyes he saw flashes of the wizard corpse.

They considered obliviating him, but the memories were so scarring and deep-seated they were afraid it would leave him a vegetable. They hoped potions and therapy would be enough but it was likely he would never be whole enough to be an Auror.

* * *

At first, they didn't let him learn magic. He was allowed to read about it but not perform it. He was loaned every kind of spellbook imaginable (aside from restricted ones of course) and spent as much time as possible reading. Eventually one of his healers decided it wouldn't be too stressful to learn just one spell. And thus Dudley learned Lumos.

* * *

Dudley had been a bully once. His confidence came from being stronger than people, and when someone tried to get in his way, he beat them up or charmed them into doing whatever he wanted. But he couldn't just beat up his memories. He was weak- but he was also a wizard, and wizards can use magic to be stronger than other people. He begged the Healers to teach him more magic, to teach him to defend himself. He begged his healers to let him learn more, to let him practice Stupefy, Bombarda, Diffindo, Protego. They made him promise to take it slow but allowed it.

* * *

It was slow, but he was improving. His wand had become his comfort, reminding him that he wasn't completely useless. He started to prepare his own food. Even though he still couldn't eat meat, knowing what was in his meal helped him to keep it down and drive away the images of bursting flesh. He was still thin and relying on potions to keep healthy, but he wasn't as close to death.

* * *

His healers were, frankly, amazed. That he was capable of any magic at all was a miracle. As his arsenal grew, so too did his confidence and strength. He was taught techniques to manage his breathing and control his panic, spells to detect people nearby, recipes that were healthy and filling. He was pulling his life together.

* * *

Being weaned off the cocktail of potions he was used to taking was difficult. Many of them were addictive and others he was scared to be without. But he worked at it, knowing Aurors couldn't rely on potions to get them through the day. That had become his end goal. Become an Auror. He didn't care how the rest of his life went, didn't care about friends or family, all he wanted was to join the Auror ranks. So he powered through the panic and withdrawals to the pride of his healers.

* * *

He managed it. After years of therapy and practice, he managed to become an Auror-in-training. Despite his past, they let him in. He was proving that he could do it. He could survive. He could take back his life and show the world who's boss. He still had nightmares and days where he just couldn't eat, but they were less debilitating, less frequent.

* * *

He had achieved his dream. He was finally a fully-fledged Auror and was ready for the war. No dark lord could be worse than his cousin.

  
  



End file.
